


Crossing Signals

by castielrisingabove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, Minor Dean/Benny - Freeform, S12 coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 14:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielrisingabove/pseuds/castielrisingabove
Summary: S12 coda: Dean wakes up from a haunting dream of Castiel with a desperate need to get in contact with him.





	Crossing Signals

Dean Winchester awoke to the familiar sound of seagulls outside his window, his heart pounding. His seaside mansion provided him with a gorgeous view, an endless supply of soothing waves sounds and a satisfactory amount of privacy. The latter was the true luxury, given his A-list celebrity status. He’d finally managed to make it big a few years ago, after being discovered as a relative unknown for the hit film trilogy Supernatural.

Two films into the series, Dean Winchester was set for life. Which was why, with his limited free time between shooting and promoting the series, he was taking a much deserved break. His agent had been insisting he find more ways to relax, and Dean had finally started to get in his groove. Or he had, anyway, before the haunting nightmare.

Most of it had been incomprehensible. Random violence. Screams. A glow of light. And, most notably, haunting blue eyes. And eyes that blue could only have belonged to one person: Castiel Novak.

Dean took a measured breath, the yoga he’d been practicing coming to serve him well. Having a nightmare about Cas made absolutely no sense. He hadn’t seen the guy in years. Decades, even. And yet, inexplicably, Dean awoke feeling an urgent need to track down his high school boyfriend. An emotion that didn’t fade, even as the initial panic dissipated.

He tried to ignore it. Dean fumbled for the remote that lifted the curtains from the windows in his home, stretching as the sunlight peeked into his room. It was Day 4 of a 30 day hiatus and he wasn’t about to squander his precious time worrying about something completely out of his control.

Though, Dean mused while chugging a green smoothie, it was very strange that he was having such a visceral reaction to a dream. Especially one about a guy he hadn’t thought about in ages. Dean was so preoccupied with figuring out the mental conundrum that when his phone rang, he was only half listening to his brother Sam on the other end.

“...and I was thinking,” Sam was saying, as Dean opened up his laptop, “We could all meet up for the Fourth of July. Jess was saying we could try to do fireworks at the beach near your house--”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Dean said, trying and failing to log onto Facebook. He groaned. Dean was not particularly tech savvy. He had staff running his public accounts, thank goodness, but his personal one languished from months of disuse.

“You sound preoccupied,” Sam commented lightly.

“What gave it away?” Dean asked, trying another password. Again, no result.

“For starters, you should have been way more excited about that fireworks thing.”

  
Dean sighed. “Do you know what happened to Castiel Novak?” he asked. Better to be upfront than tip-toe around the issue. It did feel strangely pressing, after all.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Castiel Novak...your...high school..boyfriend?” Sam asked, almost hesitantly.

“That’s the one. I gotta find him. I, uh,” Dean felt a moment of clarity, “I gotta tell him something.”

“Dude, since when have you been thinking about Cas?” Sam asked, as Dean tried for the third time to log into his Facebook account, “I thought you had the hots for your manager right now.”

Dean squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Crowley made for some fun flings, but he wasn’t exactly the sort of guy you brought back to meet your family. Hell, Dean hadn’t brought any of his romantic encounters to meet the family since Cas. “That’s beside the point,” Dean said, trying not to dwell on the implications of that thought. “How does one track down an old high school acquaintance?”

Sam laughed. “You forgot your Facebook password, didn’t you?”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Sam was still chuckling, and Dean couldn’t hold it against him. He was so bad at technology that once, after a disastrous tweet he’d made himself, the hashtag #OldManDean started trending. “Hold on,” Sam said, “lemme check mine.”

Dean waited impatiently as he heard the rattle of keys on Sam’s end. His phone buzzed against his ear. A call from Crowley. “Tell me what you’ve found,” he said to Sam, “I gotta take this call.”

“Make it quick,” he barked.

“Dean Winchester,” Crowley’s low english accent rumbled, “Doth mine ears deceive me? That response sounds awfully busy for your required 30 days of relaxation.”

“What do you want, Crowley?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’d found us triplets?”

Dean paused in his pacing.

“ _Model. Triplets._ ”

Dean’s eyes widened and for a moment, he almost... _almost_ forgot about Castiel. But as soon as he closed his eyes to imagine the scene Crowley was setting for him, all he could see was an intense pair of blue eyes that seemed faintly familiar. He sighed.

“Gonna have to pass.”

“Really? Pass. On triplets? What has gotten into the great Dean Winchester?”

Dean squirmed, finally sitting down on a plush balcony seat. He’d hoped the sounds of the ocean might slow his pounding heart, but mostly the blue ocean served to remind him of the mission at hand. “I already have plans.”

“Gotta be real important plans to bail on this,” Crowley said, accusation in his voice.

“They are,” Dean assured him. He rolled his eyes as Crowley hung up without another word. Crowley was often like this, an impatient devil perched on Dean’s shoulder. He’d come around in a day or two. If he didn’t, Dean could always send him a gift basket or something.

“Dean, you back?” Sam’s voice crackled back onto the phone. Unlike Crowley, Sam was basically the angel on Dean’s shoulder. Well, he’d taken over for Cas in that regard. Even when they weren’t dating, Castiel had helped keep Dean’s moral compass in line from afar as they corresponded throughout college. But then Dean had his first acting break and he’d been swept off to California, chasing bigger and bigger dreams and leaving poor Castiel in the dust.

“Yeah, I’m back,” Dean hoped Sam wouldn’t ask about who was on the other line.

“Well, I have good news and bad news,” Sam announced.

“That’s ominous.”

“Yeah, well. Bad news is, your ex is like a ghost. He isn’t on social media, he’s not listed in any formal positions, I can’t even find his address….basically there’s no easy way to track him down.”

Dean frowned. The desire to find Castiel only grew more urgent. “How is there good news?”

“Good news is,” Sam replied cheerfully, “Your younger brother is a genius. With everything I’m setting up, we’re bound to track him down by tomorrow.”

Dean thanked Sam, though he felt hollow. Tomorrow was too far away. Hell, today was too far away. He needed to find Cas now. Needed to tell him...something. He spent the rest of the day in unease, trying and failing to relax, and his only thought that night when slipping off to sleep was of Castiel.

  
\----

 

Dean awoke on his straw mat with a start, the strains of a very strange dream already beginning to fade. There was much he did not understand, a whole new world, but two things made sense: the thrum of urgency and a pair of striking blue eyes. He might have only been a low-level knight in the kingdom, but even Dean knew whose eyes those belonged to: the crown prince himself, Castiel.

He’d seen the man only once. They had crossed paths in the castle’s rose garden. It had taken Dean a moment to look away, and being caught gazing upon the prince could have easily warranted punishment, but to his astonishment, the prince had caught his gaze. It felt like electricity, Castiel tilting his head curiously. Then someone had called for Dean and the moment was gone, as was the prince himself.

And yet, even with that single moment, Dean knew deep within his heart that the eyes he’d seen in his dream belonged to that man.

“I think I had a vision,” he mumbled to Garth, who slept nearby and was Dean’s closest friend on the troop. Normally he’d confide in Sam, his younger brother, but ever since it was discovered that Sam shared in their mother’s magical abilities, he’d been shipped off to some fancy magic school, leaving Dean to enlist in the army alone.

“Not to burst your bubble, Dean,” Garth mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he tried to wake up fully, “But aren’t visions reserved for them magic folk?”

“I know,” Dean could feel the urgency pumping through his veins, every moment they tarried seemed to last far too long, “But perhaps I do have the gift? A tiny amount? Just enough for one measly vision.”

He could see Garth seemed unsure of this answer. But Garth was nothing if not kind, he was not the kind of man to tell anyone no. (How he managed to join the castle guard was beyond Dean.) Garth smiled and patted Dean’s shoulder. “Maybe you do,” he agreed hesitantly.

“Then you gotta help me find the crown prince.”

Garth’s smile slipped off his face and his eyes widened. “Dean, you know we cannot just--”

“But my vision!”

There was a rustle of straw as Garth sat up fully, glancing around the barn to ensure nobody else was listening. All the other soldiers seemed fast asleep. “Dean,” Garth whispered pleadingly, “I’m sure your, uh, vision was nice, but you cannot just approach the crown prince! The law would dictate--”

  
“I know the laws,” Dean dismissed him, “This is more important.”

Silence fell as the implications of that statement sunk in. The penalty for what Dean was suggesting was death. Even he wasn’t sure how he could possibly think, after one vision, that this was a good idea. Garth exhaled a shaky breath. “Dean…” Dean braced himself for the worst, but Garth, ever loyal, simply said, “What do you need?”

“A horse,” Dean said quickly. It was at least a day’s walk to the palace without one and time was of the essence. “And the element of surprise.”

“You’ll already have that last one,” Garth replied drily, “I doubt they’re used to a member of the guard barreling back to the castle unannounced.”

“I mean a way to let them know not to shoot me down at the wall.”

They both thought a moment, the palace walls were heavily guarded by archers. Then Garth snapped his fingers. “You’ll need the general’s helmet. Robert gets special privileges, right?”

“But how--” Dean started.

Garth beamed. “Dean-o, making friends with everyone in our unit has its advantages. I’ll get you that helmet.”

“Seriously?”

“If you think this is important, I believe you,” Garth replied simply. “But please. Dean. Try to come home.”

Dean nodded, touched by Garth’s kindness.

And, sure enough, Garth had managed to find him a horse and the helmet before the sun had even risen in the sky. He wasted little time, heart pounding alongside the thrum of hoofbeats as he raced across the countryside. The plan was utterly insane, completely against everything Dean had worked for, and yet...it felt right. No, it felt meant to be.

It was afternoon when he reached the castle, the sun beating down on him. Sweat trickled down his temples as he eased the horse to a stop, keeping his head low at the castle gates, both to prominently show the general’s helmet and to hide his face. To Dean’s relief, they allowed him inside. One obstacle down.

He considered subterfuge in terms of getting into the castle. But such plans were always better suited to his clever brother, Sam, and besides, time was of the essence. Dean ran instead, his armor clattering down the long, empty hallways as his heart guided him closer...closer…

The doors to the throne room were huge, made of sturdy oak and carved with the kingdom’s history. Two guards stood nearby, utterly bored. No doubt they rarely saw any action. Guess it was their lucky day. Dean didn’t even try to fight, instead pushing the doors open with a loud creak and racing inside before the guards could even gather their wits.

The shouting of the guards seemed to dim as Dean saw inside the throne room. It was covered in gold leaf, the sunlight drifting in through the window making it all glow with an unearthly light. But what really stood out were the inhabitants. Two people stood inside. One was the crown prince. The other, Dean’s brother.

“Dean?” Sam gasped. His hair had grown since the last time Dean had seen him, practically brushing his shoulders now. He’d aged, but the look of shock on his face was painfully familiar. Dean drank in the sight of his brother, afraid it would be his last.

“I need to talk to Castiel,” Dean said, hearing the roar of the guards crescendo with the pounding of his heart. Why he’d said Castiel instead of the crown prince was beyond him, though Dean knew he had little time. He locked eyes with Castiel. Once again, the electric feeling raced through his veins, the words catching in his throat as he stared at the oddly familiar blue eyes.

“Cas--” he choked out, the sound blurring into a static. He could see Sam in his peripheral vision, reaching out, horrified. Castiel opened his mouth, as though in warning when a bright ball of energy hit Dean from behind. A spell. Of course he wouldn’t make it.

Dean pitched forwards, his face scraping against the stone floor, bones crunching. His whole body was in pain, he could hear a cry that sounded much like Sam’s. A voice rose above the din. “You knew the consequences for disturbing the crown prince,” it boomed, loud and powerful. Another wizard, no doubt, hiding just in case something happened, some danger made it to the throne room.

All the while, though, Dean tried to croak out his message. “Cas--Cas...I-” he rasped, his voice lost in the madness of the room. Then a beam of light engulfed his vision and everything went still.

\---

“Cas!” Dean awoke screaming the name, full of pain and desperation. The dream (if it even was a dream, it had felt so real) had been strange, very strange, and centered around one thing: his late husband. Not in the way his dreams usually did, those were full of melancholy, seeing Castiel but being unable to tell him he loved him, this was full of urgency. And Castiel seemed different than the one he remembered. More serious.

“Dean?” Benny croaked from beside him. Benny was the first person Dean had dated since Castiel’s death three years ago. They’d met at Benny’s diner, Dean was floored to discover the best damn pie in Louisiana happened to be made by the cutest baker in the world. They hit it off, and Dean stopped his retrospective road trip to eventually settle in with Benny.

All was well, aside from the unfortunate fact that Dean still wasn’t entirely over Cas.

At first, Benny was understanding. He, too, had lost a spouse, his wife Andrea dying from cancer five years ago. But there was one crucial difference between the two, and that was that Benny had fully completed the stages of grief. Dean, though he tried to act otherwise, had not. Which made certain situations unavoidably difficult, though Benny worked valiantly to be loving and patient.

Still, there was no denying their relationship was on the rocks. And Dean screaming out his dead husband’s name during his and Benny’s couple’s retreat certainly didn’t help. Dean frowned, trying to push away the desperation still humming in his veins. They hadn’t flown all the way to the Bahamas for this to ruin it.

“Dean,” Benny mumbled, shifting under the silk comforter, “I thought things were getting better.”

“They were. They are,” Dean insisted, planting a kiss on Benny’s forehead as waves crashed gently outside their window.

“No offense,” Benny drawled, sitting up in the darkness, “But that sounded worse than the sounds you’d make when we were first gettin’ together.”

It was true. Dean had been pretty awful their first months together, but this was a whole new low. “I gotta tell him something,” Dean admitted hoarsely, shrugging away when Benny tried to wrap an arm around him. “It’s urgent.”

Benny sighed, looking away. “Dean, I thought we were working through the whole I love you thing.” For a while, Dean had harbored immense guilt for not telling Castiel he loved him very often.

“No,” Dean clenched his jaw, trying and failing to slow his racing heart. It was bad enough trying to handle the unexpected stress the dream brought, even harder to handle his boyfriend growing steadily more unhappy. “It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?” The patience was slowly starting to drain from Benny’s voice as the bed creaked.

“It’s not like before--”

“What is it then?” Benny repeated.

“Benny, please--” Dean begged, trying and failing to think of a good way to articulate it.

“What. Is. It?” Benny asked slowly, a painful cold creeping into his tone.

Panic welled in Dean. He could scarcely deal with the strange dream about his late husband, much less the fury and disappointment from the man he hoped would be his future husband. Besides, the whole dream, and his emotional reaction to it, hardly made sense. But Benny was glaring at him and all Dean could see was his future crumbling, so he choked out: “Come home. I’m supposed to tell him to come home.”

Benny paused, looking Dean over. He softened slightly, though Dean could still make out a sadness in his eyes. “C’mere,” Benny muttered, trying again to wrap an arm around Dean. This time, Dean agreed, leaning against the solid form of his partner to find a semblance of peace, though his heart still raced.

“Come back to sleep,” Benny whispered and Dean hesitantly obeyed, the strangely urgent dream somehow feeling less pressing than before as sleep quickly overtook him. The last thing he heard as he drifted off to sleep was his own voice begging Castiel to come home.

\---

 _Come home._ It echoed in Dean’s mind when he awoke as a stripper, trying to recall if he’d ever had a client with such striking eyes.

 _Come home._ It pounded in his skull when he woke up hella hungover after celebrating his 7th year on the police force, reminding him of his childhood best friend.

 _Come home._ It flowed through his veins as blasted through space, suddenly wondering what sort of man existed with eyes as blue as home world’s sky.

_Come home._

_Come home._

_Come home._

Through time and space, through iteration after iteration, world after world, the message raced, with Dean Winchester desperately trying to keep up, to process, and to bring the words to the man who needed to hear them.

Until.

He wasn’t anything special. Dean Winchester was merely a mechanic, eking out an income to support not only himself but his college-bound younger brother. The dream collided with him as it had all the times before, with equal parts sadness, desperation and love, the mysterious blue eyes boring into his very soul. Eyes that seemed to belong, strangely, to an author Dean adored: a one C. Novak.

An author, but what seemed the miraculous forces of the universe, who happened to be signing books in Dean’s hometown that very day.

Of course, Dean had spent weeks preparing for the moment to meet his hero. He’d deliberated over which book he’d have signed and carefully plotted out what he could possibly say to the man who’d changed his life for the better. But it all went out the window after the dream, Dean’s heart beating a rapid tempo as he waited in line, until finally, finally--

There he was. Castiel. Same blue eyes. Same ruffled brown hair. Hell, same damn trench coat as the dream and all Dean could say, with a surge of affection and urgency, was “Come home Cas.”

And to his surprise, the man didn’t grow upset, or confused, or even annoyed. Instead, a strange sort of recognition settled in his electric blue eyes as Castiel croaked one word. “Dean?”

\---

Countless worlds away, Sam Winchester laid a cool cloth to his brother’s forehead. It had been just over three weeks since Jack’s birth, the opening of the portals and the loss of both Mary and Cas. Worse, not long after Castiel’s death, Dean had slipped into a feverish coma, mumbling the occasional come home while tossing and turning, but never waking. Sam had doing all he could, but it wasn’t enough. Dean was wasting away before his very eyes. Within the span of a month, it was looking quite possible that Sam could lose all his remaining family members and the thought was killing him.

“Please,” he whispered, a prayer to anyone or anything that might be listening, “Help him.”

There was a painfully familiar rustle of wings behind him. Sam couldn’t bear to turn around, couldn’t bear to see someone that wasn’t Castiel, so he closed his eyes. He could feel a hand move past him and brush up against Dean’s forehead and when Sam opened his eyes, he realized that Dean’s were open too, though his brother stared in awe at whoever stood just beyond Sam.

“Hello, Dean,” a familiar deep voice croaked and Sam whirled around to see Castiel, in the flesh, hovering over both of them with a soft smile, “I’m home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, consider leaving a comment!


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